Drabbledygook
by Saxy Lady Writes
Summary: A collection of drabbles originally posted on my tumblr but I'm going to collect here for your reading enjoyment. Rated T for safety (and language). Some are sad eater, some are fluffy fluff, some may become full fics. They're as unedited as when I posted them; sorry for any horrible mistakes.
1. The Death God's Dilemma

We're gonna start out with sad eater because it was the first one I got to

**The Death God's Dilemma**

_Written because homework is hard. Just as unedited as it was when originally posted._

_Slightly inspired by "Nageku Shinigami" by Miyuki Mitsubachi_

Death the Kid had never, not once in his entire life, cried.

He didn't cry when he was five years old and the first line began to appear, marring his perfectly symmetrical appearance. He didn't cry when he was eleven and he broke his first bone – a finger – while out on a mission with Liz and Patty. He didn't cry when he was fourteen and discovered that his father had been lying to him about Shibusen. He didn't cry when Noah and Gopher held him hostage and tortured him for days on end. And he didn't cry when he was sixteen, and when, on the same day he came to gain incredible power and truth about a Shinigami's power and his personal beliefs, he realized it came at the cost of his father.

That wasn't to say that he didn't want to cry at these times – that would be a lie. No, more than anything, Kid wished he was capable of the release tears seemed to bring humans, wished he could show the world how much he was grieving besides the circles under his eyes that grew darker each day.

The old members of Spartoi knew how much pain he was in after losing his father, shared the same pain as he did. For the new Shinigami, this was as much of a comfort as he could hope to ask for. But that didn't stop him from hearing the words whispered behind closed doors by citizens the world over.

_Did you hear that the new Shinigami basically_killed_ his father?_

As though he knew. As though he did it on purpose.

It was difficult enough negotiating the new political situation with the Witches Council and nominating Ambassadors and new teachers, but doing that knowing that the people didn't truly support him, doing that without being able to look in the mirror and seeing the connected Lines of Sanzu without being wracked with guilt so debilitating it made his earlier panic attacks seem like a molehill in comparison – well, it was a good thing that gods of death weren't held to the same necessities as humans.

Sometimes Kid wondered if he would be able to complete the grieving process if he could just _cry_. It seemed to help his friends, all of whom had mostly been able to move on. He'd never seen Soul so content, Tsubaki so confident, Jackie so assertive. He didn't begrudge them their happiness, he just wished he could join them.

He knew they were worried about him, worried about how much he was throwing himself into the Witch Council situation, into the recruiting process – into maintaining the old school his father had been so proud of. (There was talk of opening Shibusen up to common citizens, having a normal program along with a special Weapon studies program. Currently, he was negotiating with not only the Witch Council, but also representatives of various interested countries.)

Patty had been drawing him more pictures, and the corkboard in his personal office was nearly covered with pink giraffes and yellow elephants, cheery colors she said always made he feel better. Liz had given him a makeover and, without a sign of reluctance, told him that if he wished, her eyebrows were in desperate need of shaping.

That had made him laugh, a feeling he had nearly forgotten, and it wasn't until his weapons squashed him in a special Thompson Hug Sandwich, that he realized how truly worried they were.

Liz wiped a tear from her eye as she pulled back, holding him at arm's length. "Welcome back, Kiddo," she said softly. Patty squeezed him tightly around the neck, nearly choking him in her enthusiasm.

A warm feeling of gratitude and love for the two sisters who had been with him through more than anyone could ever imagine swelled in him suddenly, and it was almost like his father was sending him a message. As though he were saying, even though I'm gone, kiddo, look around you – look at all these people that love you, all these people that need you; even if I'm not there, they're here, and you live for these people like I lived for them.

The Thompson sisters may not have entirely understood the reason why he pulled them back in a tight hug with a whispered thank you, but they were beyond grateful that their Kid was back.

However, not even then, not even when he had wanted the most to cry, had Kid been able to relieve the pressure behind his eyes – no, not until his vision was full of black tinged with white, tinged with an emptiness he had not known for nearly sixty years.

Bile rose up from his stomach, and disbelief that had long since settled throughout his body number his fingers, causing him to fumble the microphone as he adjusted it.

Looking out at the crowd of wrinkled faces pulled taught with crippling grief, as though a Witch's Illusion were being laid over each person, he saw them as they were seventy-three years ago, youthful and covered of the scars and bruises of their battles. He saw them gathered in the basketball court, as they were when he watched from the sidelines, always observing with his cool impassiveness: Maka throwing a fit about the rules, Black Star running around trying to steal the ball from Soul who just laughed as he held it over the shorter boy's head, Tsubaki giggling as she watched, Patty jumping on Soul's back, teaming up with Black Star and yelling about tall shark boys should learn to play fair – and he saw her as she was, watching it all unfold with affectionate composure, not a blonde hair out of place. She would see him, and wave before heading over, having given up on them ever completing a full game of basketball. She would smell like oranges and spice, the scent that he had given himself three migraines while trying to find.

It was as he looked over the sea of black, as he filled in the gaps of the missing faces with those the city, the nation, the world, had already grieved for, as he saw them nodding, saw them crying the tears he had never shed, that something inside him broke.

He opened his mouth to deliver the beginning of the eulogy, prepared to open with the tried-and-true words that he found himself unable to do so. How could he address this crowd as friends when the last of his friends was no longer among it?

Kid was all alone, left with nothing but the empty faces of the people gathered at the church, of the people who could never know him like they did – like she did.

The black suits and dresses and white faces of the grieving folk blurred together, turned into a massive black and white kaleidoscope. A single line of feeling returned to him, and Kid slowly reached up to feel it, his finger coming away wet.

From the tear drop balance on his fingertip, feeling slowly returned to him, spreading through his hand, up his arm, and settling into a heavy ball in his stomach. It was a worse pain than he had ever felt in his existence, and nothing he had experience to that point could have prepared him for the utter _misery_ that humans felt when they cared enough to cry.

It was at the moment that Kid finally cried that he wished he was no longer capable of it.


	2. Missed Opportunities and Little Brothers

_Have some angsty__TsuStar~_

_You can thank Proma for this. The prompt: TsuStar, siblings_

He knew he had missed his chance long before she had even met her now-fiancé. The first hints she sent him—the ones that, if caught in time, could save him from the slippery slope he had been falling down—were too subtle for him to notice. Looking back now, he supposed that he should have known to be watching for small hints; Tsubaki had never been one for anything ostentatious.

No, that had always been him, leaping up on tables, crowing his self-declared godliness to a disinterested audience, challenging people far his superior and putting her in danger simply because his pride had told him it was the only way to prove to her, to prove to the world, that he was good enough for her. He would have liked to say that from the beginning of their partnership, all of the showing off he had done, the reckless adventures he had gone on, had all been to show her his worth. But he knew the truth, knew that it had all been for himself and for his ego, and while she had paid for it then, he was paying for it now.

Karma had a funny way of coming back and biting you in the ass. He wished it had been a bit bigger and had swallowed him whole instead of just taking a chunk of him. He didn't want to feel this way, had no reason to feel this way.

The drink burned as it slid down his throat, but that may have also just been the bitterness and self-loathing crawling it's way up from his heart. He wasn't really sure anymore. He wasn't really sure of much anymore, to be honest. He had lost his rock, lost his anchor, and now he was adrift in an ocean of loneliness, of regret, and he didn't even have any fucking Kishin or witches to take it out on.

Another line of fire followed the first, and he sighed. That was another problem, another identity crisis he had been dealing with. Sure, he was glad that Asura was gone, dead, evaporated—whatever the fuck the god equivalent was to dying, he was glad that he and Tsubaki and the rest of Spartoi had sent the motherfucker on his merry way there. On that day, he had finally done something right, something for the right reason, for once in his fifteen years. Together, with Tsubaki's help, he had done something that she could be proud of, something that she could tell to her children that would make them realize just how much of a badass warrior goddess their mother really was.

Only problem with that, was he had always imagined in some dormant part of his brain that sitting next to that warrior goddess would be her warrior god: the one with whom she had almost died, the one with whom she had saved the world.

He supposed, bile rising at the very thought, that, in a way, that dream of his could still be a reality. Just, instead if him being her warrior god husband, he was her warrior god—

The ruffling of his hair stopped his mind from completing that thought, stopped his hand as it pressed another shot to his lips, stopped his heart because oh, Jesus, there had been sign number one, the domino that toppled Rome.

It hadn't been the first sign, not really, but it had been the first one big enough that he actually took notice of it. Tsubaki never, ever touched his hair; it was one of the rules set in place for her own safety and for his—shocker, this—pride. He spent hours getting it to form into his signature style, and the globs of gel he had had to use most likely weren't healthy for anyone to be touching. But there she had been, giggling and ruffling his hair in response to something he had done, as though he were the cutest child in the whole world. His first instinct was to get angry, because even though she was older than he, did she have to be so damn condescending?

Tsubaki had seemed genuinely concerned and confused as she asked him what was wrong, though it hadn't stopped her from doing it again the next day. In fact, the more it seemed to bother him, the more frequently she had done it, and the more mischievous her smiles had gotten, like a big sister teasing her younger brother. He had always considered them family, but never quite like that. For example, brothers didn't feel this—the butterflies, the heat rush, the giddiness at simply being in the presence of her—when they spent time with their sister.

But as he turned to face the raven haired girl who sat at the bar stool next to him, hands clasped under her chin and eyes wrinkled in a cheerful smile, those feelings rushed over him once again. With all of the discipline of a successful assassin (which he was, dammit, despite what she always teased) he pushed down the fuckin sentiment and managed a grimace of a smile back at her. She seemed to take it in stride, most likely blaming the alcohol for his unusual behavior. In a way, she was right; to him, she was like the strongest drink ever mixed. She could turn him from cool to corny with just a twitch if his lips.

Groaning, he let his head slam down to the counter, sort of wishing he could conveniently damage the part if his brain that controlled emotion. He could do with an on-off switch for sentiment, actually.

"Tsu, wha'chu doin' here?" He mumbled partly to the grimy wood and partly to her.

Gentle fingers loosened his grip on the glass and pulled it from his hand with a disapproving noise. "What would Nygus and Sid say if they saw you right now?"

She was scolding him, bringing in his parents as a soft threat, just like a sister. He scoffed in return, tilting his head so he could see at least her blurred form out of one eye. "Pro'lly 'idiot' and 'pull yourself together! Be the kind of man who doesn't dwell on the bad!'"

Her laugh, it was music, it was beautiful, just like she was. He made a face into the counter; to be honest, he could hardly stand being around him, living in his pathetic mind.

"Well," Tsubaki cleared her throat in the way he knew she meant business. He sat up immediately, rubbing the exhaustion out of his eyes.

When she didn't continue immediately, he placed a hand in her shoulder, leaning in comfortingly. It was a new territory for him; usually Tsuabki was in his position, and he was in hers. All of his actions at the moment were based around what she would have done for him, his only experience with someone being concerned for, about, with him. With Tsubaki, there had been a lot of firsts done, and a lot of firsts he wished had been done. The latter would never come true, not anymore, not since she had long since relabeled him and found someone else. He pushed the thought away, his entire focus, his entire being devoted to ensuring she was alright. There may have been some selfish hope driving his actions, but the concern was there, it was real.

"Tsubaki, tell me what's wrong?"

She giggled a little, brushing her bangs back while a faint blush colored her cheeks. "Well, I suppose I'm being a bit silly, and he would be so upset with me if he knew, but I just wanted to warn you, to…" Tsubaki paused, and when she continued, her voice was soft, imploring. "To make sure that you would agree, that we really have your complete approval and blessing."

"You know you do," he said automatically, meaning it with all of the shattered pieces of his foolish heart. "As long as you're happy, that's all that matters to me."

When she pulled him into a hug, his nose was filled with her scent, the smell that was lavender and spice and Tsubaki. "I am. I truly am; happier than I have been in a long time, I think."

Internally he winced, but kelt his face schooled into a bright smile because her keen eyes were trained on him, searching for any sign of a lie. Apparently not spotting norm she grasped his hands. "Black Star, would you be my fiancé's best man in our wedding?"

He forced another enthusiastic grin for her sake, and she was so excited, she didn't even notice it's poor quality. "Of course! After all, what are brothers for?"

And if the words came out a bit more bitter than he had intended, well, she didn't notice that either.


	3. What Lies in the Shadows

_Okay have an incomplete timetraveler AU drabble thing_

_From H0lmeser's prompt: write me another sad fic that will make me want to tear my heart out_

_I dunno if this did it, but if I ever finish it, it might just do it_

—

All his life, he had stood in the shadows. He did it all for her, keeping himself in the darkness, so she could live in the light. As long as she was alright, as long as her heart was still beating and soul still smiling, he would content himself with simply watching, living vicariously through the girl who had saved—is saving—would save him. He had decided a long time ago (or a long time into the future, he supposed it would be) that his life would be hers. No matter the date or the time, he swore, he would be there, protecting her from all that she couldn't yet see.

The older she got, the closer to the fated day, the harder it became to stay silent. He wanted to burst out into the sunlight, grab her by the hand, and take her somewhere she would never be hurt, somewhere she would never meet him, somewhere she wouldn't have the option to give her life in exchange for his. But he knew the laws, knew what would happen to both him and, more importantly, to her if he were to intervene in such a way. She wasn't to know her future, to know that meeting the owner of the red eyes that had gleamed from the shadows all her life, silently watching, would be the absolute worst wish to ever come true. So he kept quiet, stepping into the light only so he could ensnare her darkness and make it his own.

She would live in the light. He would be sure of that. This time, when the day of their meeting came, he wouldn't fail her. This time, he wouldn't have to sit there helplessly as he watched the light leave her eyes.


	4. They Walk Among Us

_In celebration of Fall Semester being over, have a Soul Eater fic I turned in for one of my finals. Insane!Soul __very__slightly OOC, written in the style of Gilman's "The Yellow Wall-Paper."_

_lmao this is so OOC!Soul it hurts but fuck it I had fun writing it_

_._

**They Walk Among Us**

I was handed this journal weeks ago, when Maka and Black*Star and Tsubaki dropped me off here. The lady with the too wide smile had given it to me while rattling off rules and the typical daily schedule. She had pretty green eyes—nowhere near as pretty as Maka's, I had noted out loud much to her chagrin and embarrassment, I later found out.

I was told I was supposed to write all my thought during my stay down in this little book. I had asked if it was like a diary, and the lady wrinkled her nose in what she probably thought was a cute movement, babbling on about how they didn't like to call it that here, it was more a thought journal, a record of our progress than anything else. Oni told her that was stupid, and I told him to shut it.

Maka had given me the look that told me she was three seconds away from hitting me. I always get blamed for Oni's inability to keep his mouth shut, but she always ignores my pouts. She never, ever believed me when I told her that I couldn't control him.

These people actually thought I was going to keep a diary, of all things. As if I would sink to doing something so lame! Yet here I am, scrawling away in this pretentious leather-bound book at who knows what time in the morning.

The first thing they did was take away my watch and alarm clock. They said time wasn't important here. They said writing my experiences were. They said it was for science.

I felt like telling them they could keep their science, I wanted my music, but I didn't. Oni, as per usual, had no qualms about telling them precisely where they could put their science.

Lights out was a couple hours ago, so I know it is some time after ten o'clock. It's like being back in school again. Here, they tell me when I sleep, when and what I eat, where I go and when I can go there, who is allowed to talk to me. Back in school, at least I could choose who to I wanted to talk to. I mostly talked to Maka, though.

I hadn't known Oni back then. I met him while I was with Maka. She was the one who gave him his name, since he couldn't remember it when we met him. It's actually a pretty sad story, the one where we got to know Oni. I like telling it; Oni does too. But Maka always gets really quiet and sad when Oni and I tag team the recounting, and no matter what I try, any funny facial expressions or wild arm movements, she avoids my eye.

We stopped telling the story eventually. Our friends were getting tired of hearing it anyway, I think. Oni was getting really obnoxious about it, ruining all the fun.

Maka insists he's bad for me, that I need to stop hanging around him. I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to get into an argument with her, but I could have told her she had no reason to be so jealous. Oni was just a little wild, that's all. Blake was wild too, and I didn't tell her she had to stop hanging out with him.

Oni whispers to me that I must get in bed; the night watch is coming through. It must be around three in the morning then.

After our group session, where we were forced to talk about the happiest moment in our lives, Oni and I snuck away from our guides. Oni wanted to explore the rest of the building, the upper floors from which we were forbidden. I had nothing better to do, so I went along with him.

He could have reminded me that it was visitor day today, and that Maka would be coming to see me. I sometimes wonder why she still does. It seems like she's only visiting because she feels obligated.

I can tell she's uncomfortable. Half the time we're either sitting in silence or she's babbling on about her students at the Academy.

We're drifting apart, and I can't tell if it's her fault or mine. Oni says that maybe it's for the best; after all she was the one who put us in here.

That made me angry; they say that my anger problems are part of the reason Maka asked them to help me. I think I lost control and threw things at him. The pen, the ink well, the single ceramic cup I was allowed, this cursed journal. Anything I could get my hands on was arsenal to my spontaneous onslaught.

Of course, that brought them running. As they restrained me, telling me I needed to calm down, Oni smirked smugly at him from his prim seat on my bed.

I wanted to kill him.

I would have killed him.

I didn't though.

Just at the moment I was wrenching myself free from their grasp, Maka showed up in my doorway, wearing the saddest look I have ever seen. It was more dejected than the one she wore when her father died.

I wanted to hug her, but she flinched back when I made to move toward her. I hung limply in the colorless, blurred figures' hold after that.

Though she was the one with the tears in her eyes, she swam in and out of focus as she moved slowly, so slowly, so cautiously toward me.

Her lovely voice came through garbled and distorted.

Her gentle voice almost drowned out by Oni's twisted, high-pitched cackle.

Her confident voice dwarfed by someone's incomprehensible yelling.

I don't know how long I was out, but when I returned to consciousness, I was alone—except for Oni. He was always there, always with me, no matter where I went.

Well, not always. Sometimes he disappeared for a couple hours. He wouldn't tell me where he would go, but when he was gone I was taken over by a strange combination of relief and an emptiness that I couldn't fill.

Maka helped, though. My times with her, when Oni wasn't there, those were the happiest times of my life. But then Oni showed up again, and she grew more and more distant.

She thought our relationship was unhealthy. It was the main reason why I'm here. She thought I needed help. Maka didn't want Oni to join me, but she didn't argue her point too much, either.

I think she finally understood that he and I were inseparable.

We've been here a couple of months now. Maka still comes every visiting day. She seems more distraught and exhausted every time I see her. I don't know why; she won't tell me.

She's very thoughtful and polite, though, always asking about Oni. I know she doesn't like him very much. When I answer her, telling her that Oni is doing fine, though he's bored, her forehead wrinkles and her lower lip trembles a little.

Oni whispers to me that she wants me to answer, "Who's Oni?" or some variant thereof. I look at him in concern.

I couldn't forget Oni! Never!

I don't know why Maka insists I do. It's completely unfair!

Oni is my best friend! Oni is the only one who understands! He's the only one who knows the truth.

The longer I'm here, the more I realize that everyone else is ignorant, living in the dark of what is really going on. I tried to tell Maka that today when I saw her. I leaned in, and hesitantly, she mimicked me.

Whispering and keeping an eye out for creepers, I tried to tell her, to warn her. She needed to be careful, to keep an watch for anyone who seems to be…_off_.

Even now, I feel things moving in the shadows cast by the flickering candle I'm writing by. I can feel them creeping closer to me.

"Off?" she asked, obviously concerned. I thought that was good, that she understood what I was trying to tell her. I thought she knew the kind of peril we were all in.

Our lives are in danger. Every single one of us. Oni had been warning about the dangers we were surrounded by since before Maka and Blake and Sue put us here in this place. I never took Oni seriously, though. It was hard to believe him when my days were full of basketball and sunshine.

Now that I'm here though, I'm beginning to understand.

Their power was wearing off. While they used to have faces before, now they were just humanoid figures blurred around the edges. They lurk outside my door. I can see them, pacing back and forth, their silhouettes malformed and hunched through the frosted glass on my door.

Maka's expression quickly became less concerned and more horrified as I attempted to explain this to her, my voice low and fast. She kept trying to get me to slow down, to just take a couple of deep breaths. She told me that I didn't know what I was talking about, that those were the doctors and nurses and orderlies I was describing. They were nice people, she trusted them, knew them. They had families and loved ones.

Oni scoffed behind me. Maka didn't believe a single word I said, just like he told me she wouldn't. Distraught, I gave one desperate attempt to make her understand, to drive it into her stubborn head that those were not people. They were faceless—how could they be people?

Maybe she couldn't see it because of some evil plan of theirs, but they were evil creatures. I told her that Oni had told me all about them. He had learned about them from people who had met them and survived. There weren't many, he said, but there were lucky ones.

He nods behind me, glancing over his shoulder at the door. The figures are growing larger, Oni tells me. He's giggling excitedly, as though this is a moment he's been waiting for a long time.

I need to write more quickly. I need to write this information down before they get me. Maybe it will be useful to any they let see this journal.

They're evil creatures, twisted by their vices. They're here to devour our souls, to condemn us forever to the burning pits below our feet. I know too much, Oni tells me, and now they're after me.

At first they appear to be like us, but beneath the smiling façade, a faceless monstrosity lurks. The more you know about them, the clearer their true form becomes. I hope you find this, Maka. Those lovely people with their lovely families and lovely loved ones, they are imposters.

They are monsters.

They're here for my soul and yours too most likely. I know you put me in here for what you believed was my own good. You didn't know this was their nest. I didn't know, either. Until I saw the first faceless monster.

Oni knew. But neither of us listened to him. We should have, Maka. I'm sorry.

Now I know the truth.

Now I believe him.

Now I'm taking my last stand.


	5. The Night the Stars Fell to Earth

_More TsuStar angst bc my OTPs aren't allowed to be happy unless they work for it_

_From Fabulousanima's prompt: TsuStar, picking up the pieces after a terrible fight_

He hadn't meant to make her cry. She hadn't meant to throw him out of the apartment. The night had started out innocent enough, but somewhere along the way, their playful teasings had become more and more painful jabs, and things had quickly gotten out of hand. They knew each other too well, knew exactly what to say that would hurt the other the most.

He brought up her never stating her opinion and always trying to smooth things over. She snapped back that if he wasn't so good at screwing everything up, she wouldn't have to. He said that he was surprised she was even able to be sort of normal, given her heritage. She retaliated that he was one to talk, that the Star clan weren't exactly saints, and besides, Mifune thought that he was the one bringing her down, and maybe he was right! She pointed out that he had never made her a death scythe, even when it was legal, and they were lucky to even survive the easy jobs. He yelled back that y'know, she didn't seem to have a problem with it before, and why did she stay with him all those years if he was such a fuckin' disappointment, huh?

They came full circle back to her being too passive, because if she was so sick of lookin' at his face, then she shoulda said so years ago, and he would've gotten out of her life and she could've found herself a better partner, one that she wasn't _embarrassed_ to be seen with. Oh, yes, he had seen the apologetic smiles she gave friends when he opened his mouth to speak, but he had decided to take a page out of her book and ignore it for all those years. He thought maybe he was just reading the look wrong, that maybe it meant something more. But he guessed now that he was wrong. He may be kinda dumb and reckless, but she wasn't such a saint, y'know. She _did _kill her brother, or did she forget about that?

It was at that point that Tsubaki had had enough of him. With a flash of blue, she transformed the end of her ponytail, pointing the chain scythe at him. In a low and clear voice, usually gentle blue eyes hard, she told him to get the fuck out or he would be sorry.

Black*Star had given her his iconic brash laugh, the one she knew he used to hide his pain. He may not have always adhered to the Rules of the Assassin, but hiding his weakness was one skill he had mastered very early on. Sneering, he told her that he had been waiting for her to say those words for awhile now. He wouldn't have felt right just leaving her all alone, because, hey, he was nothing if not a gentleman, and now she had given him permission, fucking finally. Thank you very much, he would just be grabbing his things and getting out of her life. Maybe now she wouldn't have to cry herself to sleep—oh yes, he had heard her—because she was stuck with him.

Eyes brimming with tears she refused to let fall, with the hand not holding her scythe, she grabbed the nearest thing to her—an ancestral vase given to her by her mother that had been her great-great-whatever grandmother's, it turned out—and threw it at him, screaming that he was such a fucking idiot, that he had everything all wrong, but she just didn't care anymore and she hoped he ended up with some giant-titted bimbo; then, she snarled, his fetishes would be satisfied and his pride wouldn't be hurt that a _woman_ of all things was on the same level as him.

He had easily dodged the piece of pottery, and the vase shattered against the wall separating the living room from the kitchen. Her harsh words, announced in a frigid and emotionless voice so different than her usual kind tone, he couldn't dodge. Each one found their mark, chipping away at the fragile ties that held his heart in one piece. He could see that saying those words hurt Tsubaki as much as hearing them hurt him. Swallowing down the bile that threatened to come up, Black*Star dipped a little into a bow, before straightening his shoulders and leaving the apartment.

At that moment, he was simply furious. He was furious at himself for hurting her so much, so intentionally, because he had. He had consciously picked out every single one of her insecurities and laid them bare, mocking them in the most painful way her knew, all because he had been annoyed. He was furious with her for breaking out of her passive—no she wasn't passive, she was reserved and thoughtful, and she had abandoned that to defend herself against the onslaught of his accusations.

Angrily, Black*Star pulled at his hair, throwing his head back and yelling at the night sky. He took off in a sprint, not knowing where he was going to go, but needing to move, to be able to see the stars, to get away from the people on the street who were giving him strange looks and edging away. He didn't know how long he ran, but when he stopped, chest heaving and hair matted to his head with sweat, the lights of Death City were just a small pinprick behind him. The light of the full moon cast his shadow behind him long and lonely, a single patch of darkness in a sea of white.

It was too much for him to handle, and fell to the ground, folding into himself to try and stop the pain, one hand clutching his heart, the other buried in his hair. He had told Tsubaki once, three years ago, that he was the darkness and she was his light, and she had agreed with her typical happy hum. He wondered if even now, even after everything he had said to her, that promise they had made—for that was what it was, a pact between the two that they would be each other's strength—would still hold true.

The sun was just putting its feeble gray light through the window when Tsubaki heard a timid knock on the still open front door. Eyes swimming in and out of focus, she listlessly raised her gaze from the piece of the broken vase she held in her hand to the doorway. He hesitated there for a moment before crossing to her in three very large steps and falling to his knees.

An unspoken understanding, perfected in their ten years of partnership, passed between them, and without intending it to happen, they were in one another's arms. The corner of the piece of pottery dug painfully into Black*Star's back, but he pulled her tighter anyway, burying his face in her shoulder. Now that that they were back together, it was as though they could once again feel, and the pain was almost unbearable. Neither were ashamed of the tears that fell, because they had been broken, and now they could begin to put the pieces together.

"I'm still mad at you, you know," Tsubaki whispered, voice muffled against his shoulder. His laughter vibrated through her, and she smiled. They still had a lot of work to do to fix their relationship, but the first step, the hardest step had been taken. He had come back.


	6. This Wasn't in my Job Description

_such unresolved sexual tension, much undercoverness_

_From anon's prompt: soma, having to pretend to be married for some super sneaky investigation of some kind_

"Soul—would you—quit that!" Maka shoved the cuddling man away from her, face burning in embarrassment. The air was cool on her neck, the temperature difference between the early Spring night and Soul Evans' tongue astonishingly vast.

Her partner glanced around surreptitiously, making sure no one saw of heard her exclamation before leaning in close again. Soul glared at her, red eyes snapping in frustration. "Jesus fuckin' Christ, Maka; keep it down. Medusa's right over there, and you're gonna blow our cover with all your god damn yelping."

Oh. Ohhhh. Now her face was red for a whole different reason. She had misconstrued his sudden advances as romantic as opposed to strictly professional. Right. He had made it perfectly clear early in their partnership that he found her and her "tiny tits" completely unappraling.

Falling back into the persona Liz and Patty had helped her build, the confident seductress who had managed to snare one of the most desirable men in all of Death City, Maka gave Soul a heavy-lidded smile. "Babe! You startled me. Now where were we?"

"Maka—?" She cut him off with a kiss as Medusa came into view at the other end of the balcony. As soon as the target was out of sight, she pushed him off her again.

"Sorry."

He looked a little dazed, something that Maka found intense satisfaction in."No, no, don't apologize."

Well, perhaps this assignment wasn't all that bad; there were some perks to pretending to be married to someone, after all. Primarily, getting revenge on Soul "Eater" Evans while gathering intel on America's #1 most wanted, Medusa Gorgon.


	7. Perhaps it's a Sin

_Because I want everyone to feel the pain of (unfulfilled) Ace!Kid and Liz which I've recently started to ship? hard?_

_Pls enjoy maybe cry a lil_

Like some friendships, there was never a specific moment that he could pinpoint it beginning; by the time he had realized it, it seemed that it had always just been. She had always been the one he would turn to, the one he double checked everything with – "_does this match?"_ – the one he could count on through anything.

Well, except maybe ghosts.

He was terrified of her punches, but he could never resist the way her cheeks would first drain of all color and then fill fiery red. Fiery like her temper. Fiery like her spirit. There was a reason she was called the Demon of Brooklyn; it was a title earned and a title well deserved. No one could take it from her — she wouldn't let anyone take it from her. And if she wasn't able to shoot the sinner down, one could always count on Patty to exact righteous punishment.

He would never step in the middle of that battle – they would never let him. The sisters had their pride, and Mama taught them how to keep it, drilled it in over and over, lived it – died by it. And when they died by it, he would stand there next to them. He would send them off to rest with a smile.

It was business first, had always been business first.

That was why when he had cupped her face in his hands, had rested his forehead against her own – the heat from the contact spread through him, warmed him, set his heart thumping, opened his eyes to see her own blue staring, saw the gold reflected there – she understood. It was a brief thing, sharp, poignant. Exhilarating. Neither would forget; even when minds grew old, bodies would remember.

What she wanted, what she craved, he couldn't give – she wouldn't ask him to give. She loved him (brother, meister, friend, soul mate), and he loved her (sister, weapon, friend, mother, soul mate). It was wrong, and it was beyond right. Sacrilegious? Never to that point.

He was a god. Impotent. Omnipotent. Shattered.

She was a queen. Powerful. Ruthless. Glue.

Forever, separation of church and state. Forever, the secret history of church and state.

When she married, he would attend, smiles and formality, congratulations spilling from lips that could never meet hers. When she had children, he would raise them with love and comfort and support — and just enough violence to build that backbone. When she experienced hardship, when she had arguments, needed a shoulder to cry on, someone's dishes to destroy, he would be there for her. He loved with the formula she had showed him, the formula he had loved her for once, he loved her for still — a love that knew no boundary between familial, romantic, platonic.

Beyond time, beyond conscience, beyond physics, he was sure he would love her, his atoms would love her.

He was a god.

He didn't forget.


End file.
